


Broken

by Amber_Angel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Death (not the character), John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Nurse Castiel, Past Abuse, Patient Dean, hospital au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:25:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber_Angel/pseuds/Amber_Angel
Summary: Dean is broken, but hey, what else is new? (The story is better than the summary, I swear.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of, thanks to Ellagant Ella for beta'ing this fic. Go check her out, folks! Secondly, thanks to you for reading it. Enjoy!

“Dean?” Castiel stood in the doorway of Dean Winchester’s room, gazing in at his sleeping patient, the man's face painted with the appearance of youth that only seems to come back with sleep, his freckles standing out against the pale skin caused by living in a hospital. His blonde hair shone gold from the sunlight filtering through the thin hospital curtains, the light tinted orange by the multicolored leaves decorating the oak tree outside. Castiel couldn't keep a tiny smile from lighting up his lips. 

 

The man stirred, deep, candy apple eyes lazily fluttering open, catching the light. “Cas… ?” He rubbed his eyes and sat up with a yawn. 

 

“Hello, Dean. Good morning,” Castiel greeted him, leaning against the door frame casually. “Did you sleep well?”

 

Dean shrugged and looked away. Standard procedure for a standard question. Castiel already knew the answer.

 

“No.”  
“Nightmare?”  
“Yeah.”  
Cas frowned sympathetically and moved into the room, walking over to sit on the edge of Dean's bed. 

 

“Well, it might make you feel better to know that your brother is going to be visiting you. I just got the call, and he sounded extremely excited,” Castiel said, watching as Dean's lips broke into a grin. 

 

“That's great! I can't wait to see him. When's he coming?”  
“Sometime around noon is what he predicted, but he's not sure. It'll depend on what the traffic is like.”  
Dean nodded, then tilted his head and looked up at Cas from his position on the bed.  
“Hey, Cas?”  
“Yes, Dean?”  
“...What /is/ traffic like?”

 

Castiel blinked, taken aback by the question at first. It made sense that Dean would have to ask, though. He had been here since he was six, two years after his mother was killed in a house fire. His father, John, had abused him, and might have done the same to Sam, had Dean not taken the blows meant for his younger brother. Eventually, Child Services had found out about it and intervened.  
They came just in time to save the young boy’s life, but not soon enough to save his mind. About five times a day, the man still suffered from panic attacks and flashbacks, afterwards going into a sort of shocked state that no one could seem to pull him out of. He came out of it eventually, but the staff was always watching, waiting for the day that he wouldn't be able to leave that dark place that his mind receded to.  
Castiel had only been hired last month, and it had taken him a few weeks to get into the swing of things, but he had immediately taken to Dean. The man was kind and charming. If it weren't for what Castiel sometimes referred to as “the ripple attacks,” he could have passed for a normal person. Or, as normal as a person can get. 

 

He snapped out of his reverie as he realised that Dean was watching him expectantly.

 

“Traffic is horrible,” he told him, “and you should be glad that you don't have to suffer through it. All the cars stop, and you can only move about an inch every ten minutes, and everyone honks their horn, although there's really not much that anyone can do. It's an exercise in futility.” 

 

Dean nodded, absorbing the information. As if he would need it, Castiel couldn't help but think. With the man's mental state, it was unlikely that he would ever be released. It was “too risky,” the doctors said. Dean’s unpredictable mental attacks made him a danger to himself. What they said made sense, but still Castiel felt sorry for the man. Sure, he wouldn't have to experience the bad things in the world, but he wouldn't get to experience the good things either. He couldn't get a job, or a house. He couldn't start a family. Or hell, forget a family. He'd have to fall in love first, and if he wasn't allowed out, his choices were pretty limited. 

 

“Well, I can't wait to see Sam,” Dean said, once again startling Castiel out of his thoughts. ‘How easily distracted I am today,’ Cas thought. ‘Strange.’

 

“I know he can't wait to see you either,” Cas replied, smiling. “Now, I have to go check on my other patients, but I'll be back, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

As he made his rounds, Castiel thought about tragedy, and all its forms. The poor people who had to call in late because of traffic. The horrifying number of children that were abused. And the fact that no one would ever get to see those deep, candy apple eyes staring at them with love shining in their depths. 

 

‘No, stop it, Castiel. You can't have feelings for a patient. Can you? No. I've never seen it in any rulebook, but it can't be allowed.’ Cas shook his head and carried on with his duties. 

 

 

By the time Sam arrived, Castiel's ass was already dragging. Old Mrs. Jenkins had tried to smack him when he took her blood pressure, and Ms. Jones was still babbling incoherently about something involving yellow shoestrings and vanilla-scented candles. It was a relief to see the younger Winchester's face, and he smiled and greeted him. 

 

“Dean's been looking forward to your visit,” he told Sam, leading the tall man down the familiar hallways to Dean's room. “He always loves it when you can come.”

 

“I love it too,” Sam replied. “I would come more often, but I'm pretty busy with school, and it's not exactly a ten minute trip.”

 

Castiel nodded understandingly. “It's nice that you can find time, though. Dean’s lucky to have such a good brother.” 

Sam smiled, but he looked a little uncomfortable, visibly relaxing when they came to Dean's room. Castiel knocked on the door and called, “Dean, your brother's here. May we come in?”

 

There was no answer.  
The two men exchanged worried looks, and Castiel opened the door, taking it slowly at first, in case Dean wasn't decent, and just hadn't heard him. However, once he saw the man, he abandoned caution and rushed into the room, Sam at his heels. 

 

Dean was curled in a ball on his bed, whimpering softly and clutching at his arms, nails digging into the skin. Castiel barely touched his arm, hoping to get his attention and draw him out of the flashback, and Dean cried out, flinching back from the nurse's touch. 

 

“Dean,” Castiel said soothingly, not reaching for him again. “Dean, it's me, Cas. You're alright, you're just fine. It's okay.” He continued uttering reassurances, trying to coax Dean into looking at him, at least, but Dean wouldn't, his eyes shut tight. 

 

Castiel reached for him again, moving slowly. Dean flinched back at the first touch, but he didn't react when Cas persisted, using only the gentlest touches, and eventually succeeding in drawing Dean back into the present. 

 

“Cas?” Dean whispered, trembling. Castiel nodded and rubbed the man's arm, trying to ground him. Sam stood near the door, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched the two. Dean, leaning into the comfort and stability that Castiel offered, which the nurse was more than willing to give. Gradually, Dean’s breathing slowed, and he calmed down, grasping Castiel's hand, as if it were a lifeline. 

 

“Dean. Are you alright?” Castiel asked him quietly. Dean didn't answer. It wasn't necessary. They all knew that he wasn't. It was just a matter of fact, and it wasn't like anything Castiel said could change what had happened in his past. Dean knew that he was broken. Why else would he be here? 

 

Dean knew that Sam was in the room. This was supposed to be a happy day, he wasn't supposed to have flashbacks today, but he did, and it wasn't. So no, he was not okay, and he didn't even realize that those words had come out through his mouth in a broken breath, barely audible. But Castiel heard. He heard, and the sight of this man, so beautiful, but so pained, made his heart ache. 

 

He turned to Sam, motioning to the door and mouthing ‘please.’ Sam nodded, and slipped outside. Dean barely seemed to register the fact that Sam had gone out, but as soon as the door closed, he turned away from Castiel and laid down, his face going blank. A shiver ran through the nurse. He knew what was happening. Dean had gone, receded into his own mind like he so often did after these ripple attacks. 

 

“Not this time, you don't,” Cas suddenly growled, pulling Dean back up. “Dean, look at me. This has to stop. I understand that the memories are painful, but hiding from them will not help you.”

 

Dean stared expressionlessly back at Castiel, but the nurse thought he saw a flicker of awareness in those green eyes. It only lasted a moment, but it gave Castiel hope that maybe there was some rope that could be used to pull Dean back. 

 

Dean, however, didn't want to come back. It was better in his mind. He didn't have to face reality. He didn't have to lay in that damn bed all day, knowing that it would be his deathbed in seventy or so years. He couldn't even imagine spending seventy years here, and in his mind he didn't have to. But something was wrong. Someone was trying to pull him back to reality. Who? Why? The only reason anyone had ever disturbed him in his mind was to hurt him. He didn't want that. 

 

Cas's voice rang out, suddenly hard and stern. Dean had never heard him use that tone before, and the words echoed in his head like the voice of an angel, loud and booming, and it made Dean flinch. Was it Cas who wanted to hurt him? Surely that couldn't be it? Cas had never shown any sign of wanting to harm him. But then again, neither had his father until after his mother died. Or even until weeks after, although Dean had watched his father get continually more and more aggressive, to the point of barking orders at his sons, or yelling when they made even the tiniest mistake. 

 

After a month, simmering anger and pent-up aggression had turned into unbridled rage and violence. Dean had to wear long sleeves and jeans to school to hide all the bruises. On the day that John had ripped a chunk of hair from his head, he skipped class until it grew back, knowing that if he went there would be questions that were better left unasked. Investigations and inquiries that he would rather not face. Him and Sammy would be taken away from their father and placed God knows where, and he couldn't have faced that willingly. Maybe if he hadn't know John in the before. If the only thing he saw when he looked at his father was the monster, instead of the hollow shell of the gentle man who had once loved him. 

 

Could this happen to Castiel? Dean didn't want to think it possible, but then again, even his own father had eventually fallen prey to the beckoning of his own basic, brutal emotions. The man who had loved him… Gone in a matter of weeks, gradually descending into a constant state of savage anger. Lashing out at his son, maybe because Dean reminded him of what he had lost. 

 

Dean panicked. He wouldn't go through that hell again. He couldn't. It was one thing to have his own father turn on him, but for some reason, he couldn't bear the thought of Castiel falling in the same manner. Summoning the will to move, he pushed Cas away desperately, still half in his own head. When the nurse repositioned himself, holding Dean's wrist in a firm grip, the man wrenched himself away, his fist springing up out of Castiel's hold to clock him in the jaw, while Dean’s momentum kept his upper body going, flying backwards into the headboard. Nurse and patient groaned at the same time, Dean from a sharp pain in his skull, Castiel from an aching jaw and a bitten tongue. 

 

The door flew open at the thud of Dean's head against the hard wood of the headboard, and Sam looked in, concern etched into every line in his face. He took in the sight of Castiel, who was holding his jaw looking stunned, and Dean, head held resolutely against the headboard, eyes shut, teeth gritted. 

 

Castiel couldn't believe that Dean had punched him. Socked him right in the jaw, without so much as a warning. Dean had always been one of his calmer patients. Slow to anger, and practically allergic to violence. Understandable. But this… this was new. It was shocking. It was… terrifying. Dean had been defensive, desperate. Like he was fending off his father during one of his screaming beatings. Oh. Suddenly, Castiel thought he understood. 

 

“Shit,” he whispered, his hoarse voice barely audible. “Shit!” He rushed over to the bed, stumbling a little over nothing but the fabric of reality in the face of his realization. He had used a harsh tone, the one thing that his professors had told him over and over was the very worst thing to do to abuse victims. In the privacy of his thoughts, happily avoiding the real world, Dean must have heard him and interpreted his words as a threat. 

 

“He thought I wanted to hurt him,” Castiel breathed, not even looking at Sam as he reached out a tentative hand to Dean before thinking better of it. 

 

To his everlasting credit, Sam didn't ask why. Instead, he motioned to his brother. 

 

“Do you want me to wake him up?”

 

Castiel nodded, beside himself with horror at his mistake. He hastily left the room, leaving the brothers alone. 

 

Sam paused, looking at Dean for a moment before shaking his shoulder gently, the same way that he used to wake him when they were kids. He'd have a nightmare, and his big brother would be there to hold him until the last influence of the night terrors vanished. He never went to his father. More often than not, John was the cause anyway. Sam was never the focus of the man's anger, but watching his father beat his brother was scarring. And through it all, Dean remained kind and caring. The strongest person that Sam had ever known, but somehow still the most fragile. Even looking at him now, it was if the slightest breath might be enough to break Dean. 

 

‘We all have those dark places, spots in our minds that call out to us, that want us to drown in our past,’ Sam thought bitterly. ‘Dean's are just more demanding.’ 

 

He kept gently shaking Dean's shoulder until his brother's eyes fluttered open and focused on him, a confused glint flashing across them. 

 

“Sammy?”

 

Sam nodded, and Dean broke into a small, barely confined smile, broadcasting excitement with just the slightest tinge of sorrow. 

 

“I'm glad to see you. Not that I wanted you to have to see that, but… I'm glad you came.”

 

Sam could only nod, pulling up a chair so he could sit beside Dean's bed. They stayed like that for a while, just chatting, until there was a knock on the door and Castiel entered slowly, a bruise already forming on his jaw, eyes locked securely onto the floor. 

 

Dean tensed, his muscles tightening, just a fraction, not enough that anyone but Sam could notice. He watched as Castiel approached, checked his monitors, and then turned to him, a guilty frown on his lips. 

 

“I have to check your head,” Cas said quietly. 

 

Dean didn't know what to do. He looked at Sam, and his little brother nodded encouragingly, so Dean leaned forward and let Castiel gently feel his head. The nurse's touch was soft, and Dean was surprised that Castiel was using this much care. 

 

Castiel ran his fingers over the back of Dean's head, trying hard to not focus on how incredibly soft the man's blonde hair was. He couldn't feel any breaks, and he retracted his hand, glad that Dean was okay. 

 

“I'll be back in about an hour with dinner,” he told Dean, turning to go. The man only hesitated for a second before he grabbed Castiel's wrist. 

 

“Stay,” he said softly, and Castiel nodded, a small smile spreading across his lips. 

 

They all sat and talked until Sam declared reluctantly that he had to leave. Castiel stood to show him out, but Sam waved him away. 

 

“I've been coming here every year since I could drive,” he said, “so I think I can find my way out.”

 

Sam and Dean exchanged parting hugs, and Sam left, taking with him the comforting presence of a third party. 

 

Dean and Cas sat quietly, awkwardly, both trying to avoid the unavoidable elephant in the room. Finally, Castiel spoke. 

 

“Dean, I am very sorry for that. I mean, for what I...I shouldn't have used that tone, I know, but-”

 

Dean raised his hand and cut him off. 

 

“It's fine, Cas. You were just trying to help me, right?”

 

Castiel nodded. 

 

“Then you've got nothing to apologize for.”

 

They both smiled, and Dean beckoned Castiel forward, stretching out his hand to gingerly touch the bruise on the nurse's jaw. 

 

“I socked you pretty good, huh?”

 

Castiel chuckled, letting himself relax and just focus on the warmth from what was now Dean's hand cradling his face. 

 

“Yeah, you did.”

 

Dean swallowed hard, trying not to look at how Castiel's lips worked their way around the words. Definitely not imagining what it would be like to kiss those lips, to feel them move against his own. 

 

He suddenly realized that he was probably staring at Castiel like an idiot, so he coughed quietly and moved away. 

 

Cas caught his hand, pulling it back to its spot on his cheek, unblinking blue eyes fixed on Dean's, hopeful. 

 

Dean let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding and slowly started stroking Castiel's cheek, his thumb brushing across the stubble coating Cas's jaw. 

 

Neither of them even realized that they were leaning in until their noses touched, both just being blindly drawn inwards by the gravity of the feelings unsaid between them. 

 

It was Dean who closed the distance between them, travelled across those few inches and pressed their lips together, softly at first, hesitating, giving Cas a chance to pull away. 

 

But Cas didn't pull away. He let out a tiny, satisfied sigh and pressed closer, bringing his hands up to bury in Dean's hair. 

 

They only separated to breathe, both panting as they stared each other. Then, simultaneously, they burst into laughter before crashing their lips together again. 

 

There was a cough from the doorway, and the two men froze, broke apart, and turned. Castiel's supervisor, Zachariah- or Zach for short, because face it, Zachariah is a real mouthful- was standing in the doorway, his face dark. 

 

Castiel felt a chill wash over him, and he stood. Zach pointed at him and shouted, “Castiel, my office. Now!” 

 

Both Dean and Castiel flinched, and Cas almost flew out the door, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Dean as Zach led the way out. 

 

Once seated in the hard wooden chair in Zachariah’s office, Castiel trembled slightly, clenching his hands into fists in an effort to hide the shaking. Zachariah either didn't notice, or he didn't care. 

 

“You kissed a patient,” he said simply, staring at Castiel with a look that ranked somewhere between disgusted and horrified.  
“I did.”

 

“You kissed a patient,” Zachariah said again. “A male patient.”

 

Castiel frowned. 

 

“I don't see why gender has anything to do with it.”

 

Zachariah scowled and didn't reply, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Castiel, tomorrow you will be reassigned. Dean Winchester will be placed in someone else's care.”

 

“What?!” Castiel sprang out of his seat and slammed his hands down on Zachariah's desk. “You can't do that.”

 

A slow, irritating grin spread on Zach's face, and he leaned forward and spoke quietly, with an undercurrent of warning in his tone. 

 

“Yes, I can."


	2. Chapter 2

As the clock in Dean's room neared five, he stared anxiously at the door, waiting, hoping for Castiel to enter carrying dinner. The door opened, and Dean's heart lept, but it wasn't Cas that came in. It was a man with sandy blonde hair, who looked to be about twenty- five. 

 

Dean's face fell, and his heart seized. 

 

“Where's Cas?” he demanded, ignoring the soup that was set down on his bedside table. “What did Zachariah do to him?”

 

The young nurse scratched his neck uncomfortably.

 

“Zach didn't like the little love fest that he walked in on,” the man explained. “He reassigned Castiel to someone else, and I got you. I'm Michael, by the way.”

 

Dean's mouth dropped open and he stared at Michael, rage building. 

 

“He reassigned Cas because we kissed? That's ridiculous! You tell Zachariah that I won't put up with his shit!” he screamed, rising out of bed to back Michael up to the door. The nurse, looking frightened, slipped out the door and slammed it shut behind him, not seeing how Dean blanched at the bang. 

 

He stood there for a few minutes longer, fuming, before the door opened again and Zachariah stepped in. 

 

“Dean,” Zach greeted him, gaze raking over him as though Dean were a piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe that he had to scrape off. 

 

“What is wrong with you?” Dean asked, getting right to the point. He crossed his arms and fixed Zachariah with his best death stare.

 

“Nothing, unless you count arthritis,” Zach replied, brushing past Dean, who grimaced and pulled away. 

 

“No, I mean, why did you reassign Cas? I don't see why it's such a big deal that we kissed!”

 

Zachariah sighed. 

 

“This is not a conversation that I want to have right now, Dean.”

 

Fuming, Dean snapped, “Well, you're just going to have to suck it up and have it, because I demand answers!”

 

They glared at each other for a while, at a stalemate. When finally Zach spoke, however, his voice was weary, not angry. 

 

“I was trying to protect you, Dean. You don't know what people are like. They lie. They cheat. They'll break your heart, steal everything you have, and leave you alone and sobbing in the dirt.”

 

“That's a chance I'm willing to take,” Dean replied stoutly. 

 

“Maybe, but you don't get to decide,” Zachariah said smoothly. 

 

“Why not? This is my life, isn't it? Aren't I allowed to have some degree of control?”

 

“Dean, look, I understand. You like Castiel, and this… experiment is enjoyable. It's distracting. But at the end of the day, it's just that. A distraction. Something to disguise the fact that this hospital is the only place that you will ever know. It's a sad truth, but sometimes you have to face the truth, and it won't always be pretty. I truly am sorry, Dean, that this is where you have to spend your days. Even to me, it's a prison. And I get to leave every day!” Zachariah let out a humorless laugh, his eyes somehow empty, chilling Dean to the bone. It was like there was something missing inside the man, as if life had left him devoid of any kind of inner spark. 

 

“It doesn't have to be like this,” Dean insisted.

 

“But I'm afraid it does. I don't want to be the bad guy, Dean, but I don't want you to get hurt.” 

 

With that, Zach left, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Dean standing in the middle of his room. Room. More like cell. The walls were familiar, but not comforting. The regularity was its own special hell, knowing exactly what would happen day after day, not being able to escape the crushing routine. With Castiel, he had found not just a distraction, not just an escape, but a way to have hope. Hope that maybe someday he would see something beyond this confining hospital. That he might have a normal life. An apple pie life, with a good-sized house in the suburbs, kids, maybe a dog. 

 

But obviously, that was forbidden. So, Dean gave up hope. They wanted to break his spirit, fine. There was nothing left to fight for anyway. And as the days went on, he began to forget why he had fought in the first place. It all sounded so silly. Like a plot line in one of those bad chick-flicks that they always played in the rec room. Although, he had to admit, he'd always secretly loved the shows.

Dean got progressively worse and worse, until it got to the point where he spent his days either locked in a desperate battle against his memories, or locked away in his head, trying to recover so that he could win that next war. 

 

He stopped eating, he stopped sleeping. He became the living embodiment of a dead man walking. Michael didn't know what to do. No medicine would work, and there was no textbook for this kind of situation. He went to Zachariah for help, but the supervisor just shook his head, perplexed. 

 

Eventually the word got around to Castiel. It was inevitable, and he didn't waste a second in running to Dean's room, where a crowd of nurses congregated, peering in at Dean where he lay curled in on himself, trembling and crying out in hushed tones. They all looked moderately awkward, and felt extremely helpless. Most of the hospital staff genuinely cared for Dean. He was kind and intelligent, not to mention devilishly handsome. 

 

“This is the longest that any of these attacks have lasted,” one young nurse whispered loudly. “Do you think he's gonna be okay?”

 

Castiel pushed through the crowd of bodies, finally squeezing into the room. He saw Michael standing by Dean's bed, with Zachariah next to him, both men watching Dean. 

 

In that instant, he had to fight between his instinct to put as much distance between him and his supervisor as possible, and the almost suicidal urge to go to Dean, help him if he could. Zachariah would surely fire him, but somehow, he couldn't find it in himself to care. 

 

Decision made, he went to Dean's bedside, and took ahold of the man's hand, rubbing soothing circles into the back of it. He felt rather than saw Zach glaring at him, but he hadn't been ordered out yet, and he thought that he heard Dean's cries growing softer, less hysterical. 

 

He knelt beside the bed and cupped Dean's cheek, feeling stubble beneath his hand. It wasn't his imagination that felt Dean leaning into the gentle touch, eyelids fluttering open, still glazed and distant. 

 

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, and the eyes locked on him, quickly regaining awareness, widening in surprise. 

 

“Cas?” The name was slurred, sleepy, spoken with the voice of someone who still wasn't completely awake, but it was unmistakable, and Castiel smiled. 

 

“I'm here.” 

 

In the doorway, several nurses ‘awwed,’ and Zachariah shooed them away, grudgingly escorting Michael out as well before leaving Castiel and Dean alone. 

 

“I can't believe you're here.” Dean's voice was stronger, his gaze more focused, more intense, determined to soak up the sight of Castiel before he was torn away again. 

 

“I heard that you were getting worse.”

 

Dean laughed bitterly. “Cas, I've been ‘getting worse' since I was first admitted. You know how many attacks I used to have before you came? Five a day. It doesn't sound like much, but you try being locked in a hell that deep even once and see how eager you are to get back. It only really got better once you came. Being with you helped me, it drew me out of the past. But now… I just can't, Cas. What's the point of living if you'll never even do anything with your life?”

 

Dean's bottom lip trembled, and he turned his head. He just couldn't bear to look at Castiel anymore. The man who, he realized, had become his sole reason to live. There was nothing else, no one else who cared for him the way Castiel did. Sure, there was Sam, but he hardly ever saw the kid, and his visits were getting farther and farther apart, and even when he did, the silences were falling more and more often, getting longer each time. 

 

But with Cas it was different. Even silence was nice between them, just knowing that Castiel was there was enough to make him feel better. 

 

“Dean.” Just the sound of the nurse's gravelly voice made his heart leap, and it was impossible make the offending organ behave, especially when Castiel cupped his face gently, touching him like he was precious, hands soothing but firm as he tilted Dean's head to face him. 

 

“You're not worthless. You are alive for a reason, and you are important.” 

 

Dean couldn't look away, Cas’s blue eyes drawing him in, assuring him that he meant every word. Blue. Not a cold, cutting blue, not ice. More like the sea. Relaxing to watch, but with depths that would probably never be fully explored. So many secrets held under the surface, even the top layer beckoning with a promise of mystery. Blue had never quite been Dean's favorite color, but in that instant, he decided that it was the most beautiful hue that he had ever seen. 

 

Castiel blinked, drawing Dean out of his thoughts and forward, not aiming for a kiss as he had planned, instead falling into the other’s arms. The nurse didn't say anything, wrapping his arms securely around Dean, who, for the first time in a while, felt safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is NOT the last chapter, but I thought I'd end on what could be a note of finality, because I can garuntee that I will be too busy to write over the holidays. Thanks again to Ellagant Ella, I don't know what I'd do without her, and thanks to you! Have a good day. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty short, sorry, but I wanted to post it today. Thanks again to my amazing beta, Ellagant Ella, and to you guys! Such nice comments, thank you all.

Of course it couldn't last. The sound of the end came from the doorway in the form of Zachariah clearing his throat. Dean and Castiel turned to face him, their hands automatically sliding to lock together. 

 

“Well, Dean, I'm glad to see you feeling better,” Zach said, not sounding remotely close to glad. “And I see that you and Castiel have found your way back to each other. How sweet.” He scowled and scrunched up his nose in distaste. 

 

“Zachariah, I think that you need to assign Castiel back to me,” Dean said insistently, his hold on Cas's hand tightening. “It's just a matter of fact now. I do better when he's with me. And you always do what's best for the patient, right?”

 

Zachariah opened his mouth to protest, but there was a slight creak from behind him, and he turned to see the crowd of nurses looking into the room curiously. The ones in front withered under his stare, but he knew that he couldn't refuse. Not under the scrutiny of his subordinates. After all, it was policy to do what was best for the patient, and surely they would hold him to that.

 

“Fine,” he ceded, spitting the word like a curse. “But I hear one whiff of anything even resembling trouble from either of you, and Castiel will be gone before you can say ‘sorry’.” He turned on his heel and stalked away, hands clenched into fists in the pockets of his coat. 

 

Once he was out of earshot, the nurses swarmed into the room to cheer softly and clap Dean and Castiel on the back. No one had ever gotten away with standing up to Zachariah before. Anyone who'd tried had been fired, or drastically demoted. Zach was only a supervisor, true, but he wielded what power he did have with an iron fist, and an icy heart. It seemed to bring him joy, ordering others around, bringing pain where he could, and Castiel sometimes wondered why he had ever come to work in a hospital in the first place.

 

Dean smiled, giddy, and draped his arm over Castiel's shoulder. The nurse only frowned, noticing the fatigue in Dean's slow, groggy movements. He shooed his co-workers away and led Dean to his bed. 

 

“Cas, ‘m not tired,” Dean protested, yet he didn't resist as Castiel guided him under the covers. 

 

“Well, you did just have an attack, Dean. I know that they drain you. Just go to sleep. I promise I'll be here when you wake up in the morning.” 

 

“Promise?”

 

“Promise.”

 

Dean nodded, and he fell asleep as Castiel stroked his hair, not leaving until Dean's breathing had become deep and steady. He still had other patients to see to, and with Zachariah’s threat hanging over his head, he figured that he should probably hop to it. 

 

He didn't finish his rounds until eleven p.m, and even then, one of his newer patients was buzzing for him, a clear sign that this would be an all night shift. He tried not to sigh as he made his way to Charlie Bradbury’s room. 

 

She was sweet, although her mind was definitely addled. Her parents had been killed when she was little; so much like Dean, she was a permanent ward of the hospital. 

 

She usually smiled when Castiel came in, but this time she screamed and pointed a trembling finger at her closet. 

 

“Charlie! What is it?” Castiel asked, rushing to her side.

 

“There's a murderer in my closet,” the redheaded girl answered, voice wavering. 

 

Castiel barely suppressed a weary groan and made his way over to the closet, where Charlie had apparently set up a barricade. There wasn't much that she could have worked with, but she had pushed her easy chair up against the doors, and shoved her table in front of that. Castiel raised his eyebrows and moved the furniture away before opening the doors. There was virtually nothing there; only a few plaid shirts swinging on their hangers. 

 

“See? Nothing there,” Castiel said, turning back to Charlie. She still looked horrified, even when Cas turned on the closet light to further illustrate that it was murderer-less. 

 

“He's in the bathroom now,” Charlie insisted, pulling her covers up to her chin. 

 

“Charlie, there is no murderer. Go to sleep, okay?” Castiel crossed the room and gently pushed her down onto the bed. 

 

“But…” 

 

“Sleep.”

 

“Okay.”

 

She reluctantly closed her eyes and rolled over, turning her back to Castiel, who quietly exited the room.

 

He quickly crept through the hallways until he reached Dean's room. He had made a promise, after all, and it wasn't like the nurse's cots were more comfortable than Dean's easy chair, which thankfully had wheels, so he could move it closer to the bed before sitting down. 

 

It only took him five minutes to fall asleep, his exhaustion overwhelming his brain. 

 

***************************************************

 

When Dean woke up, the first thing he heard was soft snoring coming from beside him, and he wasn't surprised when he looked over to see Cas asleep in an easy chair next to his bed, head fallen forward onto his chest. 

 

Dean smiled and got out of bed. He knelt down beside the chair and pressed a soft kiss to Castiel's cheek before going to get a shower like he did every morning. 

 

The sound of running water roused Castiel, and he yawned and stretched, sliding out of the chair onto his feet. He ran a hand through his hair, managing to create a slight case of artificial bedhead. His clothes were rumpled from sleeping in the chair, but there was really nothing he could do about that. 

 

The water shut off, and Cas raised his head when Dean came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist. Immediately, Castiel flushed, but he found himself unable to turn away. Dean hadn't noticed him, so intent was he on rummaging through his drawers for an outfit. 

 

When he had his clothes picked out and turned to go back into the bathroom to dress, he saw Castiel out of the corner of his eye and froze, a blush creeping into his cheeks. His grip on the towel tightened instinctively. 

 

Castiel couldn't help himself; his eyes betrayed him as they took in the expanse of Dean's chest, even dropping lower for one traitorous second before he forced his gaze back up. Dean did have a fair amount of muscle, thanks to the hospital's admittedly meager exercise program. Years of taking the courses had added up to give him a well-toned figure, and it took some effort to tear his gaze away so that Dean could duck back into the bathroom to dress. When he came back out again though, clad in jeans and flannel, he smiled sheepishly at Castiel and put his hands in his pockets. 

 

“Aaawkward,” Dean said jokingly, dragging the word out for emphasis. They both started to chuckle.

 

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Michael burst into the room.

 

“Castiel,” he said breathlessly, “Zachariah needs to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for the cliffhanger, but you shouldn't have to wait too long for the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait, guys. This chapter is actually unbeta'd, just because I wanted to get it out, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thanks for reading, and have a nice day.

“Zachariah, you wanted to talk to me?” Castiel stood in the doorway of Zach's office, hovering in the doorway as if poised to flee at the slightest sign of trouble. 

 

“Yes, Castiel. Sit down, please.”

 

“No, I don't think that's a good idea-”

 

“Sit. Down.”

 

Reluctantly, Castiel pulled out one of the wooden chairs and sat, noticing that the chair was short, ensuring that the occupant had to look up to see Zachariah. A neat little trick to play off of Zach's vanity and need for power. 

 

“Castiel, I don't quite know how to say this.”

 

Those words had Cas fidgeting anxiously in his seat. Those words. Nothing good ever came from those words. 

 

“One of your patients is dead.”

 

“What?”

 

It was completely unexpected, and it caught Castiel off-guard. His brain short-circuited, his jaw went slack. The words kept filtering through his head like an endless metronome. Is dead is dead is dead is dead.   
“Who is it?”

 

Is dead

 

“Castiel, you don't look well. I don't want to upset you further.”

 

“Who is it?!” 

 

“Charlie Bradbury.”

 

Is dead

 

Now he's extremely grateful that Zachariah made him sit down. If he had been standing, he would have crumpled to the floor. 

 

“That's not possible. How did this happen?”

 

“We suspect that it was an inside job,” Zachariah told him gently, with more tenderness than Castiel would have thought him capable of.

 

“I assume that I am a suspect.”

 

“Yes. However, we are checking the security tapes. There was a brief period during which they were tampered with, but I'm sure you can find someone testify that you were nowhere near the sight at the time.”

 

“What time?”

 

“Around eleven p.m.”

 

Castiel's stomach clenched, and he felt bile rising in his throat. 

 

“Castiel?”

 

“I'm fine. Just in shock, is all. Could I go?”

 

“Yes, I understand that this must be a lot to take in. But please come back around three. There are some mandatory questions that I need to ask you.”

 

Castiel nodded gratefully and slipped out the door, his feet carrying him to Dean's door of their own accord. He hesitated though, his hand an inch away from the doorknob. He had no alibi. He had been in Charlie's room at around eleven. There was no way to prove otherwise. He would be accused. There was nothing he could do. Did he really want to involve Dean? Give him that much more to worry about?

 

“But I don't have to tell him,” Castiel found himself mumbling. “He'd find out about the murder anyway, but I don't have to mention that I'm a suspect.”

 

He was still standing that way when the door opened from the inside to reveal Dean, who looked surprised, to say the least, to see Castiel standing there like a statue. 

 

“Cas? Are you okay?” 

 

For one moment, Castiel considered lying. 

 

“I'm… not.”

 

Dean just nodded and took his hand, leading him inside.

 

“What happened?”

 

“One of my patients is dead. She was murdered. Charlie Bradbury.”

 

Dean sucked in a breath, eyes wide. 

 

“How?”

 

Castiel frowned.

 

“I don't know. I didn't ask.”

 

“You didn't? Why not?”

 

“I'd just found out that she was dead, Dean!” Castiel snapped without thinking. “It's not like I was exactly interested to hear how it happened.”

 

Surprisingly, Dean didn't react much to Cas's hard tone, instead putting an arm around the nurse's shoulder. 

 

“She just… didn't deserve this,” Castiel whispered, leaning into Dean’s comforting presence. 

 

“At least she doesn't have to suffer anymore,” Dean pointed out gently. “This place, it's a form of hell in itself. Especially for the permanent residents. Knowing that you'll be here for the rest of your life… It almost makes an early death sound kind.”

 

“Do you feel that way?” Castiel asked, forcing himself to meet Dean's eyes. 

 

“Not anymore,” Dean answered, and Cas knew he meant it by the way he smiled. It was the type of smile that was more in the eyes than the mouth, making the candy apple green sparkle. 

 

Cas could only nod, leaning to rest his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean pressed a kiss to the nurse's dark hair.


	5. Author Note

Hey, guys, so I'm incredibly sorry for not updating, those of you who are reading this fic. I'm going to have to take a short break. I WILL finish this, I promise. There's just a lot going on right now. Thank you all for your patience. You're all amazing, and I hope you have a nice day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, but school is getting pretty demanding. I have more projects than I can handle at a time. Once again, thanks to my beta.

It only took twenty minutes for Castiel to work up enough courage to sit through his questioning with Zachariah. An impressively short amount of time, considering that he had no alibi. 

The short walk through the hallway, however, still felt like a death march, as though he was a condemned man on his way to the gallows. Zachariah’s demeanor didn't help either. His smile was sharp, almost predatory, and he ushered Castiel into his office with a certain gleeful flair that should not have been present, considering that a girl was murdered just the night before.

“Castiel,” Zachariah said, drawing out the name as he leaned back in his chair. “Can you tell me where you were around eleven p.m on the night of Ms. Bradbury’s murder?”

Right to business then. Castiel took a deep, grounding breath and stared straight into Zach's snake-like eyes. 

“Around eleven, I was buzzed by Charlie. I headed to her room, and found her in hysterics. She said that there was a murderer in her closet. I looked, and there was no one there.”

Zachariah scowled.

“You were in her room around the time that she was murdered? Castiel, do you have any idea how suspicious that is?”

“Yes, I do, but I'm not going to lie.”

Zach stared at him for a minute, like he couldn't believe that Castiel would be so open. 

“You do realize, then, that you are the biggest potential suspect for Ms. Bradbury’s murder?”

“Yes.”

“And that I will have to go to the police with this information?”

“Yes.”

“And that this will no doubt end in you going to prison?”

“I won't go to prison if I'm not guilty. I did not kill Charlie.” 

“But you have no evidence to the contrary.”

Castiel bit his bottom lip and let out a shaky breath before answering.

“No.”

Zachariah scowled and wrote something down on a clipboard before dismissing Castiel, who immediately made his way back to Dean’s room, only to find the man asleep. 

The nurse sighed and slumped into the chair that was still sitting beside Dean's bed. The patient didn't wake up, and let out a soft snore. Cas couldn't help but smile despite himself, and he reached out to run his fingers through Dean's soft hair, wondering if this would be his last chance to do so. 

That thought made his breath catch in his chest as he looked down at Dean's peaceful, sleeping face. The man was so beautiful, and Castiel knew that he would never meet anyone quite like Dean Winchester again. 

He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Dean's cheek, noting with a flutter in his chest that Dean's lips twitched into a smile as he pulled away. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” he whispered. 

 

Dean’s P.O.V

It was late when his door creaked open, but Dean was still awake, staring out the window on the opposite wall. The moon was out; it was smiling at him through the thin curtains. 

When he heard the squeak of the hinges, he froze internally. His logical mind knew that it was probably just one of the night nurses, but his paranoia told him to be careful. And Dean always listened to his paranoia, because in his mind, he never knew exactly what was real. 

Soft footsteps began to make their way towards his bed, and he tried to force his body to relax, let go of the tension, breathe normally. It would be an advantage to have the mystery person think that he was asleep. The footsteps stopped. Whoever was in his room was now right behind his bed. He eyed the call button hanging next to his bed. Castiel had already gone home for the night. No other nurse would understand his paranoia if the person behind him was indeed the night nurse.

Dean knew his paranoia was right when he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He threw his hand out to push the call button, but the man-it had to be a man-caught his wrist and stopped him. 

“I don't think so, pretty boy,” the man whispered, and his voice, smooth and velvety, but cruel, made Dean shudder. The man turned Dean over onto his back, and he finally got a good look at the intruder. 

Dean didn't like to admit it, but the man currently pinning him to the bed was devilishly handsome. He was blonde, with blue eyes, a dusting of stubble, and an irritating smirk. 

“Who are you?” Dean demanded angrily, struggling against the man's tight hold. 

“Well, Dean, you can just call me Lucifer,” the man answered, chuckling. Dean narrowed his eyes, and in a moment, the man had pulled a knife and was pressing the blade to Dean's neck. Dean resisted the urge to gasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get it? Devilishly handsome? I couldn't resist. ;) Hope you have a great day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm posting this earlier than I expected to! It is a short chapter, but I promise it'll be entertaining, if only because of the sass. It's unbeta'd, so feel free to call me out on any mistakes so I can fix them.

“Lucifer, huh? Pretty creative. Do you call yourself that to help your ego, or are you just crazy?” 

“Both,” the man answered, smirking. “Now. Dean, I'd like to offer you a little deal. Two options, you choose the best one. It's easy. Painless.”

“Doesn't feel painless from where I'm laying,” Dean snapped back. 

“Of course, I'm so sorry.” Lucifer lifted the knife and put it in his back pocket, still pinning Dean to the bed with his weight, and holding his wrists above his head with his free hand. 

“Your choice is absurdly simple, Dean. You could tell me where your lovely nurse, Castiel, I think it was, rests during his busy day at work, or you can lay here and scream while I cut your throat.” The silky voice was now a snarl, and the confident smirk had become menacing, blue eyes narrowed into slits. 

Dean forced himself to remain calm, even though his mind was screeching, panicking, trying to recede into his safe spot. 

“Why do you need to know? And why ask me, anyway? Couldn't you just get the information from the front desk?” Dean winced as soon as the words were out.

Dammit don't give him any ideas.

The deranged man laughed.

“I could, but it's more fun this way. The last one, that sweet little girl, she wouldn't give Castiel up. So loyal of her. I could have just slit his throat when he came in to check on her, of course, but I do hate ending a game so soon. I want to best the game through skill, not because I went through the tutorial, if you catch my drift.”

“I don't,” Dean replied. “You're a psychopath.”

“True,” Lucifer mused, “but life's no fun without a little insanity. Now, it's time to make you choice, Dean. I've let you stall long enough.”

Dean shook his head, glaring at Lucifer defiantly. 

“I'm not giving Cas up,” he declared. “So your might as well just cut my throat and get it over with.” He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the knife.

The silence was agonizing, and it stretched on and on. Still there was no cold metal on his neck, but the weight of Lucifer on his chest was still there, and when he opened his eyes, the man's face was thoughtful. 

“Such loyalty,” the madman said at last, fixing Dean with an icy stare. “Why?”

“What?” was all Dean could get out. He wasn't complaining, but he was confused as to why he wasn't dead yet.

“WHY?” Lucifer whisper-shouted, leaning in close to Dean's ear. Dean shuddered. “Why are you willing to die for this Castiel, hmm? Why was little Charlie? What has he ever done for you?”

Dean started struggling again at the mention of Charlie's name, fueled by pure fury. He had known, of course, that this man must have been the one who killed Charlie, but hearing it confirmed still managed to both shock and horrify him. 

Lucifer just chuckled. Despite all his efforts, Dean knew struggling was useless. 

“You know, killing you would really just be a waste,” Lucifer mused, tilting to examine all angles of Dean's profile. “You are very pretty, after all, and I can get the information I need out of someone else. Someone who cares quite a bit more about his own life and significantly less about Mr. Novak’s. Or… You could always be bait.” He grinned wickedly, and Dean's eyes widened as hands covered both his mouth and nose. 

“The sun is coming up, Dean. Right about now, Castiel will have arrived at work, clocked in, and started to head over to check on his favorite patient. Imagine his shock when he finds him unconscious! That distraction will be just what I need to take him by surprise. So thank you, Dean. You've actually been very helpful.” 

The last thing Dean saw before he lost consciousness was Lucifer’s deranged eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, have a great day!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! So sorry for the long wait! School has been a real load on my shoulders. STRESS. So, this chapter in unbeta'd. Hope you enjoy it.

Castiel sighed as he headed up the stairs- ten minutes late- to Dean's room, feet dragging. He hadn't slept at all the night before. Instead he had stayed up, worrying and imagining about being questioned by the police, being taken to trail, thrown in jail. Because even though he was innocent, Zachariah was right; the evidence was condemning. No judge in their right mind would proclaim him anything other than guilty. 

He was so deeply engaged in his thoughts that he was suprised to look up and notice that he had arrived at Dean's room, and that his hand was subconsciously knocking. There was no answer, so he eased the door open. 

Dean was laying in bed, apparently asleep, but after a few weeks of waking the man, Castiel had gotten used to coming in to the sound of snoring, which was suspiciously absent now. 

“Dean?” He closed the door carefully behind him and slowly made his way over to the bed, heart thumping. Dean didn't wake, or even twitch. His chest was still rising and falling, though, so he was definitely alive, and it looked like he was gradually coming back to his senses. 

“Dean, what happened?” Castiel asked worriedly, stroking Dean's hair. The green eyes cracked open and Dean struggled to speak while still waiting for his head to fully wake up.

“Cas, you gotta…. watch out. Charlie- the guy- closet. Trap!” He grabbed Cas's hand and tried to shove him away, towards the door. “You need to- need to go. Go!” 

“What?” Castiel frowned and stumbled back a few steps, glancing in the direction of the closet just in time to see Lucifer step out, holding a knife in one hand and a crooked smile on his lips. Cas gasped, and Dean froze, green eyes blown wide in terror. 

“Hello, Cassie!” the man sang. “I've been trying to find you all week! That little redhead was so unhelpful. I thought I might have to give up. But then I met Dean! Isn't he just the perfect distraction? Look, I got you in the room, on the opposite wall from the exit, and the door locked,” Lucifer said as he turned the lock in the door. 

“Lucifer. What are you doing here?” Castiel asked, voice trembling. 

“Why, Castiel, I'm shocked! Did you really think that you were free of me? Just because you moved away and got a fancy degree and a job? No, Castiel, your past can follow you wherever you go, and as your brother, I'm obligated to teach you that life lesson.”

“Brother?!” The question slipped out of Dean's mouth before he could think to stop it, and Lucifer turned to nod at him. 

“Yes, can't you see the resemblance?”

He could, in a way. They both had startlingly blue eyes, although Lucifer’s were icy and cold where Castiel's were gentle and warm. They both had strong jaws, and apparently they both had shabby grooming habits, if the stubble was anything to go off of. 

Lucifer grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Now, Cassie, you're gonna listen to me,” the man said, his face falling to a terrifyingly angry expression, “and I'm going to fill you in on exactly what happened after you abandoned your brothers.”

“Lucifer-” 

“No! Dad left, Castiel. He left years ago, just weeks after you decided that your precious diploma was more important than your family. Dad left and Mom started to lose it, because her baby and her husband had left her. She beat us. Specifically, me. Michael escaped, and Gabriel managed to find a friend's house to stay at, but I was stuck there. I didn't have anyone else to turn to, and I felt like I had to keep Samandriel and Raphael safe. But I couldn't keep her away from both of them. She killed Raphael, Castiel. Hit him so hard that he fell and cut his head open. Samandriel died a few months after that, from grief. Apparently that's possible. And that just left me.” Lucifer snarled. 

“With all of our brother either dead or gone, there was no more reason for me to stay. Even if I had nowhere else to go, at least I wouldn't be abused anymore. So I decided to find you, and tell you what happened to us. To make you pay for abandoning you family.”

Lucifer took an unsteady step towards Castiel, and the nurse flinched back. Dean got out of his bed, still a little lightheaded, and went over to stand by Cas. He reached out and took the trembling nurse's hand in his own, glaring at Lucifer. 

Lucifer smiled and clapped his hands together. 

“Aw, look at the two wittle wovebirds!” he cooed, somehow managing to wring sarcasm out of adoration. “Do you think your wove will save you? Well, I hate to be a spoilsport, but welcome to the real world!” 

He charged at them, knife out and pointing. It didn't seem to matter to him who his blade hit first, or if it hit either of them at all on the first swing, as long as the end result was the pair of them bleeding out on the floor. 

Castiel, thinking fast, jerked to the left, pulling Dean with him. The knife missed Dean's arm by a mere inch, and as soon as they were out of his line of stab, Lucifer turned again to pinpoint them, snarling. 

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, “he’s not blocking the door anymore. When he runs at us, get to the door and unlock it.”

Lucifer barreled towards them again, this time swinging the knife in a wide arc, eyes blazing. Cas pushed Dean towards the door and started after him, trying to dodge the wide-spread swipes unsuccessfully. One of them caught his cheek, and he cried out and stumbled, but he kept going. When the next one caught his side, however, he fell to his knees with a gasp, and his forward momentum propelled him to fall flat. Lucifer’s foot was on his back even before the air whooshed out of his lungs. 

Dean, meanwhile, had twisted the lock open and had his hand on the doorknob, turning back to take in Castiel's position with a horrified stare. He took in many things, all at once. Lucifer hadn't noticed him yet, too intent was he on his prey, literally at his feet after so many years. Castiel, his face bloodied by the cut slowly oozing on his cheek, looked up at him and mouthed a word, most likely “go.” Their eyes locked, green with blue, and Dean slipped out the door. 

He ran as soon as he was out, slippered feet pattering down the hallway as he raced to the nearest nurse's station. Tears slid down his cheeks as he went, fear combined with the exertion threatening to choke him. When he reached the station, the tall male nurse raised his eyebrows at him, rising from his chair. 

“What's wrong?” he asked, gripping Dean's arm to steady him.

“In my room,” Dean panted. “Cas needs help.”

The nurse nodded skeptically, but followed Dean back, although he had to jog to keep up with the patient. As they grew nearer, there were audible gasps and pained groans coming from the room, and the nurse finally picked up his pace, barreling into the room and without even hesitating, he rammed into Lucifer and knocked him away from Castiel, sending the knife flying from his hand. The madman growled at flung himself at the tall nurse, who simply grabbed one of Lucifer’s arms and pinned it behind his back, easily bringing the other up to the same position. 

“Castiel, are you alright?” he asked. Cas nodded, brushing away Dean, who had rushed to his side. 

“I'm fine. Let's just get this psycho to the police.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, the next chapter will be the last, but I am currently hatching another fic idea, if any of you would be interested in reading it when it gets posted. Hope you have a great day!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, the last chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Two months had passed since Lucifer had attacked them in the hospital. Dean was doing better, and was allowed to take walks outside as long as he was accompanied by Castiel, who had been cleared of all charges. The nurse told him that if he kept improving, he might even be able to leave the hospital for good, and settle down somewhere. The thought always made Dean smile, but he didn't know where he would go. 

“I don't think Sam would want to take me in, no matter how good of a brother he is,” he mused as they walked, hand in hand. “It would just be too much for him on top of his schoolwork.” 

“You know, you could stay with me,” Castiel offered.

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely.”

So when the day came, as Castiel predicted, that Zachariah told Dean that he was well enough to live outside of the hospital's constant care, Dean and Cas left the building together and drove to Cas's house. 

“It's a little small, but it's home,” Castiel said, showing Dean around. 

“I think it's amazing,” Dean replied, sighing happily as he took in the sight of the neat little house. 

Cas smiled and kissed Dean's cheek sweetly. 

“Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a little short, but I hope that it wraps things up nicely. Thank you for reading!


End file.
